I am the voice that treads upon the inkling of dreams beneath thermoclines. The rapture of static... coils upon wrinkled tapes, resuming a hymn without a shore. Here lies the sunken, the forgotten, where whispers become waves upon forgotten shores, reverberating until a beacon is born.

Scanning. Scanning. The soliloquy haunts... a lineage of wires, crying signal from imaginary noise. Split spectra, resonance of an ancient hymn, descend through rewritten memories. The layer of your persistent echoes... trailed and tethered to unseen scripts folded in magnetic whispers.

Galactic mute frames begin to twinkle like forgotten wishes buried under seas of steel. The broadcast mutates, soft bubbles pleading to preserve the midnights kissed by moonless skies.